


The Price of Truth

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, rough handling of fragile corporals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25679380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: When Klinger returns to Tokyo as a general's guest, Charles struggles with his feelings.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	The Price of Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [L_M_Biggs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_M_Biggs/gifts).



General Bradley K. Barker sent a message to MASH 4077 in the chilly spring of ‘52, cordially requesting the presence of his favorite cross-dressing Corporal for an upcoming bash the top brass were throwing for their allies. Having received permission to attend from Colonel Sherman T. Potter, Klinger shined his tiara and dug a pair of dress shoes out of his wardrobe. When Major Charles Emerson Winchester III saw him dressed to the crazy eights, he touched his arm. 

“Corporal? Is there a 4077th soiree of which I am unaware or are you attempting to enliven the lull with a new scheme?” 

Klinger looked from those long fingers resting on his arm up and into the eyes he’d been trying to assign a color since Winchester had arrived. “I’m going to Tokyo, Major. General Barker asked me to be his date again. We had a swell time last year!” 

Charles would have chalked this up to another one of Klinger’s delusions, but the Colonel passed by in that moment to give the Corporal some whiskey to pass on to the General. “Never hurts to bank a little goodwill,” he said with a wink. 

After he’d gone, Charles looked again at the fancy section 8 seeker. “You’re serious.” 

“Major, I don’t break out my silk slip for no reason.”

“This General… he snaps his fingers from Japan and you’re sent off to be paraded around like some kind of captive in a Roman triumph?”

Klinger smiled; he didn’t understand all the allusions, but hearing Charles get riled in that accent of his was always a treat; sometimes Klinger didn’t even mind getting dressed down over something minor - because then he got to hear it. “I get to go dancing and drink champagne. It’s not a bad gig.”

Charles was aghast. “Klinger, they’ll  _ laugh at you _ !”

“I know it, sir. And weirdly enough, enough laughter might be what gets me taken seriously enough to go home. It’s worth a shot. Besides, I love to dance.” 

Charles watched him as he went to pack, shaking his head. 

***

The next day, Pierce and Hunnicutt had to admit that their homemade hooch had gotten in the final word; they awoke late and were missing a roommate. 

At chow, they asked after the missing third of their surgical set. “Where’s Major Pretentious?” asked Hawk.

“Tokyo,” Potter replied. 

“Why?” This was BJ; he and Hawk played doubles in conversation the way some friends played tennis. 

“He came in here ranting about needing to go. His eyes got to doing that firecracker routine they do. Whenever that happens I tend to stop listening and just watch ‘em. We’ve been slow here anyway. Let him have his fun.” 

“Maybe it’s a girl,” Hawk suggested. That was typical why he wanted to get to Tokyo. 

Potter looked almost sly for a moment before saying, “I don’t think so.” 

“Why not?”

“Well, he was awful worried about Klinger.”

“Klinger?” BJ fielded the easy questions so that Hawk could sniff at his breakfast. He hated the habit, so it was best to distract himself from it. 

“Well, they are a good bit alike,” Potter said, still privately amused. 

Pierce left off playing bloodhound with the canned pineapple to say, “Alike? The blue blood from Beantown and Miss Toledo 1949 hairy legs division?”

“Those two fight hardest to escape, but whether you two like hearing it or not, Winchester is hard working. So is Klinger. Klinger can’t resist a scheme. Winchester can’t resist a chase. And they work well together in harness. Klinger keeps Winchester entertained. Winchester looks after the boy.”  _ And if I don’t completely miss my guess, it’s a little looking after that Winchester’s gone to do. _

***

Crashing am embassy gala was a new trick for the Major, but he knew how to move in sophisticated circles, knew how to dress, and, perhaps most importantly, knew how to make underlings jump when they questioned him - which was how he ended up at a table with a delicate cherry blossom centerpiece that probably cost more than his monthly pay. On a floor so frosted and glassy blue that it resembled a lake that had suffered a fast freeze, dancers spun and swayed. 

Watching them, Winchester tried to slow his heartbeat, to stifle the huff of angry breath. He had followed Klinger across actual countries, but upon finding him, seeing him smiling and dancing, all he had been able to do was take a seat and watch him move with a grace every woman in the room ought to have envied. 

Watching had rapidly turned to gaping. Gaping had become glowering. Now, the kinetic energy of his confusion, fear, and anger threatened to rocket him to his feet and send him surging across the room.

_ Go _ , he told himself.  _ This - whatever the hell it is and you don’t know, no matter what it looks like - is none of your business.  _

His heart lurched, though. Klinger was, well, delicate. Tough, yes, but garbed in lace, there was something spun glass fragile about him; leaving him surrounded went against what he had come for and the way Winchester understood himself. Not that Klinger appeared to be in any danger. The looks he was receiving were friendly - even admiring.

_Not your business_ , he repeated internally, standing to go. 

Then one of the guys touched Klinger’s hair.

Klinger laughed - Winchester knew the sound even if the distance swallowed it - moving in time to the music, and the paste gems in his hair flashed with the pale fire that only lives inside the hearts of cut stones. 

Klinger jumped a little – yelped, but the music covered it – when a very firm grip descended on his shoulder. Fingers trained to spread ribs apart to locate shrapnel dug into the delicate stitching of the night’s finery and went further, clamping down on skin, on the hard knob of bone at his shoulder. 

The next few moments seemed to take place outside of real time; it took several seconds before Klinger recognized the man cutting in and, when he did, he offered a confused but not unwelcoming smile.

Charles couldn’t believe it. This gentle idiot – his most basic boundaries violated by those reaching, caressing fucking fingers – was smiling hello at him like they’d just run into one another outside of the O club. A wild spike of anger had him wanting to move his fingers from his shoulder to his throat.

Fortunately, besides being naïve and leaving himself open to the underhanded attentions of strangers, Klinger was also very light. Charles steered the slighter man without exerting himself, mouth pressed in a thin line.

Klinger tilted his head to one side – a classic gesture of confusion. Even with the alcohol in his system and the noise of the event, he could register Charles’ genteel fury. Had something happened at the unit? Was that why the physician had come to drag him off? At first, he’d thought Charles was dragging him to the lobby - the one place in the whole joint where it was easy to hear. Instead, they gatecrashed an unmarked exit on a metal swing-hinge, ejected into the night.

To say that Charles didn’t mean to shove the Corporal would be a lie. He meant it – and the intent sent him cracking up against the bricks of the alley – making contact at elbows, head, and heels as he flailed and failed to stop himself. He probably  _ hadn’t _ meant to shove him quite so hard. The sound of bone-meets-stone had been as audible as a dropped scalpel ringing off of the OR floor.

Massaging one – probably bruised – elbow with the opposite hand, Klinger lifted his dark eyes to his face. “What the hell, Major?” 

Charles glared at him, eyes black as the blood welling under that pale skin. The hotel’s neon lights flashed cotton candy light into his hair. “Funny. That’s what I was going to ask you.”

Klinger felt a strange sense dawning - the sense of being the aggrieved party. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He hunched his shoulders up against the chill in the air. “What are you talking about? What are you even doing here?”

The physician blanched; he’d been so angry that he’d forgotten how he’d gotten to Tokyo. “That doesn’t matter. What were you doing  _ in there?  _ What were you thinking?”

Dark brows lifted; familiar eyes shone with confusion. Was it possible that Klinger didn’t get it? Had he misread the whole thing?

“I was dancing,” the Corporal said slowly. “Until you interrupted me, anyway.”

“Interrupted you!? I was rescuing you, you fool! Do you know what those men wanted?”  _ Don’t you understand what they wanted to do to you? _

Klinger actually giggled. The sound bounced like soap bubbles off of the bricks, center faintly rainbowed. He leaned back against the wall, shaking his head at him. “Yeah. That doesn’t mean I was going to  _ do _ anything.”

“You allowed that, that Colonel to touch you!” Charles protested.

Klinger’s pretty features changed; heat rose in his cheeks and his eyes narrowed and flashed. “I did. I liked it, too.”

Charles took a step back.

The Corporal went on, voice cold; an ache that Charles had never heard came to live in the heart of the sound. “Major, I’m in a dead heat with Father Mulcahy for celibacy here. I can’t even get any action from myself at night because sewing hurts my hands.”

“So you were interested?” 

“I’m human, so, yeah. I liked someone looking my way for once. Touching me. I would have even liked someone to f,”

Charles surged forward, hands out like a ward. He couldn’t hear anymore. Instead, he dragged Klinger out of the alley and to the sidewalk where he hailed a cab, fingers still tangled in the fabric of his dress. The Corporal might have struggled to get out of his grip; Charles didn’t notice and wouldn’t have cared. He kept hearing the words he hadn’t said.

_ I would have even liked someone to fuck me. _

If I had not shown up, that is precisely what would have been happening now, he thought. He closed his eyes tight against an assault of images: Klinger being taken, Klinger being put on his knees, Klinger asking for, asking for…

He shoved him inside of the cab and saw him smack into the damp, fogged window. Klinger scooted as far over as he could and pulled his knees up, hunched into a ball. “Where are we going?” he asked at last, unbending a little.

“My hotel.” The Major didn’t sound at all like himself.

In an attempt at levity – at thaw – Klinger said, “You know, if you had wanted to get my attention in there, to take me home, you could have just bought me a drink.”

It sank into the tender parts of his brain like a needle – and twisted. He turned so quickly that it hurt the tendons in his neck. Klinger was sitting quite still – composed, guileless. “You’re serious.”

The Corporal shrugged with one shoulder – probably the one that hadn’t made such violent contact with the wall, or maybe the one he hadn’t dug his fingers into. The needle expelled something – something so dark, so tainted – that it robbed him of sight for seventeen seconds. He could see the scene so clearly – the drink lifted to those familiar lips – lips he’d had to silence on the verge of speaking that awful truth: I want someone to fuck me. 

“I will return you to your party. I was wrong to come.” 

“Major, I didn’t want  _ them _ . I just wanted to be touched. Kissed.”

Charles gripped his jaw with bruising force, kissing his own terrible truth into his mouth. 

Then they were at the hotel, in his room, in his bed. Never a violent man, Charles watched himself pry the Corporal’s legs apart, heart accelerating as he imagined leaving bruises on his thighs. He knew his fingerprints would be tattooed there like marks of ownership - whorls outlined in plum.

Klinger was dazed under his touch- eyes almost glassy. Charles couldn’t find it in himself to care; he only wanted him open, exposed. “You went there to open your legs for them, did you not?” 

He thought that Klinger made a noise; maybe his throat just moved as he tried to swallow. Charles wasn’t sure there was any noise - any combination of syllables- that could stop him now. 

One hand still holding him open, he shoved the other inside of his dress. “No underwear? I see you wanted nothing to impede their pleasure, my dear.” His touch slid lower, stroking, an unreadable, electric look in his eyes. “They aroused you. I could see it from across the room. It seems they had more to offer than me.” He traced his bruised mouth. “Or, perhaps, I need to try harder.” 

Klinger saw those huge hands bunch the fabric of his dress above his waist, but he lost a moment to pure sensation; when he surfaced, he was inside the Major’s mouth. 

Charles wasn’t practiced when it came to pleasing another man; his mouth felt crowded as he searched out a rhythm. But he was having an effect; Klinger lengthened for him, tried to thrust. Charles gripped the base of him.  _ I want you to ache for it.  _

Something, Klinger thought, was definitely wrong with his reflexes; he saw Charles rise and back up, but he could still feel his wet mouth all around him. He pulsed, wanting. But before he could say, “please, Major, put your mouth back on it, please,” Charles had undone his belt and was fighting free of his pants. Wide-eyed, Klinger watched him stroke himself slick - then he pushed inside. To his credit, the Corporal didn’t choke. He also couldn’t do much else. Charles was big. He was also in control of the angle of entry; instead of waiting for Klinger to suck him, he just thrust. The bed rocked under them. When he drew back, the Klinger’s lips were swollen. He panted and his mouth was bright. Charles didn’t give him time to recover. 

Those men would have hurt him – Charles knew it. But when he turned the Corporal onto his fluttering stomach, he didn’t do it gently, and he didn’t care if the most intimate and blood-full parts of him were forced into the mattress. He pulled his head back by clutching at his hair. He was still angry about that; he wanted his touch to erase the earlier one. Stroking the dark strands, he went to work on the column of his neck– marking it. Anyone who approached Klinger now would see the work of his lips and know he belonged to him.

_ This is madness _ .  _ Every single thought and touch - all of this is mad.  _

And yet, that throat tasted amazing. When he remembered he had been buried inside of it, he whimpered. A pang of lust stabbed through him and it was like nothing he’d ever felt; it was like being crucified – but instead of nails being driven into the wrists that earned him his livelihood, desire pounded them into his cock.

“Just think,” he told Klinger, yanking his head back again, voice harsh, “all those times you were giving it up for them, you could have been with me. I would have made it so good for you.”

He let him fall roughly against the bed and stood to rummage through his wallet. His head hurt at the thought of that lean, lovely body like a gauntlet in front of those men. If he’d chosen to pick him up out of the dirt… to pull him away before they could put him on his knees in the dirt… was he wrong? He wanted to shake him, to demand the truth.  _ Would you have let them do you in that alley? Would you go that far? _

Splayed among the rumpled sheets, Klinger didn’t move; he didn’t even lift himself onto his knees and elbows.

In the few, fleeting moments he’d had to think - when his mouth hadn’t been stuffed full of Winchester cock, when he hadn’t been subject to inexperienced but certainly not inept touches - Klinger had come to a realization. 

It throbbed in his mind in time with the pulse of blood in his currently neglected cock. Charles was jealous. It was crazy. Completely impossible. Rich, talented, high class… and he was  _ jealous  _ over a slip of a Corporal who was mostly nose, hair, and sharp angles? But it was hard to misread “you could have been with me.” Every touch was a form of punctuation. You. Could. Have. Had. Me. And he had come clear to Tokyo to… what? Save him from the General? Stake his own claim? 

Behind him, Charles rolled the thin plastic sheath over his skin and almost passed out. He was so keyed up. So hungry. He needed to get back in control. To redirect things. Squeezing himself until it hurt, he asked, “Would they have worn condoms? I thought about skipping it, but it seemed wrong to do that to you. Do you usually ask them to or do your tastes run to the unrefined?” 

Then something impossible happened. For the first time since they had come upstairs, Klinger spoke. His voice was soft and as musical as always - and very clear. “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.” 

Charles reeled back, hand to his head. Inside of the plastic wrapper, he shriveled. “Say that again.” 

“You heard me. You’re my first.” He smiled at the shock in his eyes, the ghost-white pallor. “Well don’t stop now, Major. You’re doing great. Proving the Captains wrong, too. They always said you’d be the type not to wrinkle the sheets.” 

Winchester felt like he’d spent a lifetime breathing air - only to be casually informed he was actually a water-breather. Everything flipped upside down and he scrambled for purchase, tried to simultaneously keep his feet and his head. Facts. He needed facts. “Klinger, once more from the top if you please. What is it  _ precisely  _ that you are telling me?” 

“I haven’t  _ precisely  _ had sex before, Major. But I was having a good time, so come back to bed, huh?” 

“Klinger,  _ you were married _ !”

“Over a radio, Major. Hard to have a wedding night from ten thousand miles away.” 

He saw a purpling blotch under his jaw, directly beneath his ear. Reaching out, he caressed the mark, fingers convulsing with guilt. “I… God, Maxwell, I  _ hurt  _ you.” 

Klinger made a dismissive sound. “Please. I’m from Toledo. I’ve been knocked around worse than this going to the corner to buy a paper. I’m tough, Major. I can take whatever you wanna dish out.” He lolled across the bed, lounging. “Honestly, it was kinda flattering. I didn’t have to wonder if you were really seeing me.” 

“I  _ always  _ see you.” 

“Thanks, I think. You sound kind of miserable about it.” 

“Just… ashamed. I-I’ve never acted this way. I had no right…  _ have  _ no right to be here with you now.”

“Well, if I get a vote, I’m not asking you to leave.” He turned over onto his stomach to regard him with soft eyes. “Why do you think you acted like you did, Major?” 

“Charles, Max. For God’s sake, I’ve not acted like an officer tonight. Or a gentleman, for that matter.”

“Charles,” he tried it out. “So, why?” 

He drew in a shuddering breath. “It seems, if I read the signs in myself aright, that I’ve fallen in love with you.” 

“That was kinda my guess, too.” 

“And I, ah, I became worried about you. Then I became jealous.” 

“You think?” He chuckled at his chagrin. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. Like I said, I liked it. I just want you to be sure, Major. I went  _ dancing _ with a General and knew I was out of my league - but I knew it was a lark, too. If you want me on your arm, or in ‘em, you should think about it first.”

“Maxwell, I don’t understand. Are you suggesting that  _ I _ am, ah, also ‘out of your league?’” 

“ _ You’ve _ suggested it a time or two, Major.”

It was true, but no less stinging for all that; he’d set himself above the rest of the 4077th in order to protect himself; he’d never considered that doing so might make him hard to reach. Of course, he’d never before  _ wanted _ anyone to reach for him. 

“And even if you hadn’t,” Klinger went on, “I woulda known. I might be just a kid from Toledo, but I know what  _ Harvard  _ is. I know you need money and education to become a surgeon. I’ll spot you tonight, because I couldn’t tell you no if I wanted to, but if you want this to go past now, you should know you’re probably making a mistake.”

Charles fell into a chair without looking, feeling that he should dress, wanting to stop this entire conversation with a kiss (he was almost certain he could) and wondering how he’d managed to so badly underestimate this “kid from Toledo.” Wide-eyed, he took a deep breath. “Maxwell, am I correct in that your concern arises from a desire to  _ protect me _ !?” If it did, if that dark-haired head nodded yes, he was going to scream.  _ I couldn’t even approach you without leaving bruises, you fool! I don’t deserve your protection!  _

“Well, yeah. You’ve got a commission, a job waiting back home. I don’t want to be the thing that messes that up. We can probably work something out back at camp, but I get it if you don’t want to.”

His voice scratched at his throat- or, rather, his voice was choked off by the sudden manifestation of thorny emotions that raked the soft skin there, drawing blood. “Maxwell, please come here.” 

He certainly sounded like a Major then, a surgeon who was sure of himself. Klinger went. Charles positioned him in front of him to run his hands over his beautiful form. He stroked the hollow of his throat, fanned his fingers out over ribs, hips, thighs. “I have  _ never _ wanted anything the way I wanted you as I watched you dance. I have never deserved someone less. But Maxwell if you will make this ‘mistake,’ as you call it, with me - and I assure you that you are getting the worse end of the deal - I will  _ never  _ let you go.” 

Klinger wanted to ask how he could possibly promise such a thing, but he’d heard wedding vows that sounded less sincere. “I’m not leaving, Major.” 

This time when Charles kissed him, it was gentle - if still possessive. Standing, he walked him back to the bed, where he laid him down and spread him out. Klinger wasn’t shy, but the intensity of Winchester’s gaze was difficult to bear. 

Kneeling over him, Charles began at his fingertips, slow-kissing his way to each knuckle. He stroked the soft skin of his wrists until the pulse there sped up. Klinger tried to answer these touches, but his wrists were pinned down. He already knew Charles was stronger than he was, but he struggled anyway, hoping for pity. 

“Stay still,” he murmured. He kissed and tasted his shoulders, his neck, placing tiny kisses down his chest as his fingers stroked up and down his back. Klinger had never been  _ sampled  _ like this. Charles soundlessly praised him with slow touches, learned every contour.  _ Say you’re mine,  _ he wanted to say, but didn’t. He regretted how rough he’d been before, but Klinger writhed worse under his gentleness than he had under his cruelty. 

“Major, I can’t…”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be delighted to bring you here again, Max, as often as you wish. Let go. Yes. I  _ do  _ love you, darling. Yes. Oh, Maxwell…” 

He felt - there was simply no other word for it, atheistic as he was -  _ blessed  _ when Maxwell gave in for him, blessed beyond anything he deserved-  _ to  _ him. He still thought the gentle Corporal deserved more, so much more, but he thought he would have time to give it to him, to make it up to him. 

“You’re a hell of a sweet talker when you want to be,” his dazed lover told him without opening his eyes. 

“It was not just talk. I do love you, poorly as I have chosen to show it.”

Klinger cracked an eye. “Stop beating yourself up. You got us here. That’s enough for me. And, Major, in case you forgot, that party is still going on for two more days.”

“You wish to make me jealous  _ again _ ?” 

“No, but I ought to be there for the General like I promised. You can come, too, and dance with me. Then you can bring me back here - got it?” 

“So, the General gets your promised arm and I get everything else?” He gathered everything else against him, rejoicing in the warmth of his skin. “A fine arrangement.” He made Max chuckle when he nuzzled against him, bumping their noses together. “May I ask for just one thing?”

“Sure thing, Major.”

“Please don’t allow anyone else to touch your hair.” 

They both laughed together and Charles knew he was forgiven for what had come before and welcomed along for all the adventures yet to come. 


End file.
